The Sins and Sorrows of Albus Dumbledore
by Gold-Snitcher
Summary: SSHP. AU. When Albus Dumbledore dies he leaves behind a great legacy and a very specific will. Severus Snape receives a key that will open the door to a mystery that will alter his world forever.
1. The Intractable Inheritance

Chapter One | The intractable Inheritance

In Scotland, near the village of Hogsmeade, across the Black Lake and behind layers of charms and enchantments, balanced at the peak of a mountain, is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which is, as any sensible person knows, the perfect place to keep a secret.

The impossible castle, built and maintained with magic, is a hodgepodge of towers and battlements, hallways and doors, filled with passages and treasures and mystery and, for more months of the year than not, gossiping and whispering witches and wizards, eager for any little piece of news.

The best way to maintain a secret, besides hiding it in plain sight, is to distract everyone so thoroughly and so completely that they are utterly diverted, believing with startling conviction that they know everything there is to know already, and so have no need to pursue anything any further. Maintaining the careful balance of rumor and fact, truth and fiction, was something the headmaster of the school was charged with since the school's founding, and of necessity, it was something that they excelled at, and no headmaster was more adept at maintaining the delicate balance than Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

…

It only made sense that when Albus Dumbledore died at the startling age of two hundred and twenty-three, there should be uproar. Witches and wizards, young and old alike were stunned by the news, and many simply didn't know what to do. There was turmoil in the Wizarding World as people struggled to come to terms with the fact that one of the most stable and comforting icons of their world, someone to whom they had clung for so very long, had slipped through their fingers without the decency of prior notification.

At Hogwarts however, there was no such turmoil. Minerva McGonagall after all, was a very stern and disciplined woman who had no tolerance for histrionics, however much she herself wished to succumb to them. She made the announcement at the morning meal and dismissed the students back to their dormitories, soothed by her platitudes and the cancellation of classes.

Albus died on a Tuesday. Minerva notified the suitable authorities, and made the appropriate arrangements and then retired to her rooms and wept. Severus Snape spent hours nursing a bottle of scotch and staring into the flames of his fire. In their dormitories, students studied and played exploding snap, some of them huddled together and exchanged stories they had heard, of the remarkable wizard who had done so much for the Wizarding world. In the headmaster's office, on a golden perch, a fiery phoenix sang a quiet lament.

Two hundred and twenty-three was an extremely respectable age, longer than the average lifespan of a wizard. As well, Albus Dumbledore had been grappling with a persisten cold that seemed to come and go, and yet refused to be subdued by the appropriate remedies. Yet was still utterly beyond comprehension that someone as steadfast and powerful as Albus should succumb to death.

So extensive was the upheaval resultant from the great wizard's demise that it was not until the following Saturday that things became settled enough for a goblin from Gringott's to visit Hogwarts for the reading of the will. The final bequests of Albus Dumbledore were entirely typical of the man; each item bestowed with a letter enclosed in a plain parchment envelope, containing words from a dear friend almost more precious than the inheritence. Everyone present to hear the reading of the will left with a little something from their friend, headmaster, leader and confidant. His wealth, his belongings, bits and pieces of his life bestowed on those who survived him, and many sought refuge in their rooms where they once again succumbed to tears.

Severus Snape left the room bewildered and perplexed. He had not known what to expect when he had attended the reading of the will. Albus had been like a father to him, but Severus did not dare to presume that he would receive anything from the man. Still, after seeing what his colleagues from the Order and from Hogwarts had received, he did not quite know what to make of the large old-fashioned and bulky key that had been the sole thing with which he had been presented, especially when his mysterious inheritance was not, unlike every other item the goblin had brought forth, accompanied by a letter from Albus.

The key was not quite the length of Severus hand, crafted from dark brass and roughened by age and use. Despite its size, it weighed almost nothing, which Severus assumed was due to some spell. The goblin had passed it over wrapped in his handkerchief, and had glowered at it darkly, which prompted Severus to wonder what other spells and enchantments had been woven into the item. That work and effort had been invested in the key was apparent from the careful rolling Celtic knots that formed the bow of it, as well as the careful etching along the narrow blade; careful scriptwork that read on one side '_for peace'_ and on the other '_for war' _inscribed in Latin.

Severus had seen the key before, of course, but only in passing. He had often taken tea with Albus in the headmaster's office and had many times witnessed the old wizard tucking it safely into a robe pocket, or twirling it distractedly. Still, Severus had no idea what the key opened, or why his mentor would pass it on to him.

Irritatingly perplexing and seemingly impossible to solve, Severus placed the strange key in his desk drawer, closed it, and set the matter aside; or at least attempted to. The peculiar inheritance seemed like a metaphor for the old headmaster himself, as enigmatic and inexplicable as Albus had been in life. Every so often, Severus would open the drawer and stare at the key, wondering at its significance.

Almost six days after receiving it, Severus removed the key from its resting place and carried it up several flights of stairs, passed a number of bewildered students and into the headmaster's office, determined to find some form of answer to the puzzle.

…

The headmaster's office was in disarray as the house elves' efforts to convert the space for the new headmistress were thwarted by Minerva McGonagall's reticence to move into an office that held so many memories. As a result, Severus found himself stepping into a room that packed with trunks and cases, and scattered with papers and books. The furniture was mostly displaced, desks and chairs resting in illogical places, and some of it stacked against the walls. Light listed in through the windows, illuminating drifting particles of dust, and the space felt forgotten and empty in a way that gave Severus pause. The entire castle had been affected by Albus' death, and not merely the people living inside its walls, everything seemed just a little more drab, a little less magical.

With conscious effort, Severus pulled himself away from such morose and overly dramatic thoughts to concentrate on his task. Without some sense of where to begin, Severus strolled the perimeter of the room, scanning for anything peculiar that might be a clue. There was no sign of a secret passage, or any place where his key might possibly reveal its secret. There were, however, a surprising number of unusual trinkets and piles of parchment and old tomes.

Severus flipped through some of the files, most of which were schedules and notes on various projects in which the man had been involved. These files were in no way classified, at least not to Severus who was a respected professor and potions master, as well as friend and confidante to the deceased wizard to whom they belonged. The papers were mostly schedules and plans for various things, Albus had been a very busy man in life, with many responsibilities, though he had always had time for tea with Severus.

Moving from the files to the desk, Severus' lips quirked upward as he noticed the little dish on the corner of the desk that still contained a small pile of lemon drops. Albus had always had a sweet tooth; Severus knew several spots in the headmaster's office in which the man had kept a hidden supply of sweets. On the desk beside the bowl sat an ornate picture frame, gold-leaf and fine carving, too intricate for Severus to find truly attractive, and yet such an odd blend of colors, gold designs atop a dark green, framing a gold section with oxidized bronze designs, framing, in turn, an oval of carved silver. Etched into the gold at the base of the frame was a small rune; never having been a student of ancient runes, Severus was unable to identify what it meant. He picked up the frame, wondering at who would feature in a picture that warranted such a notable position as directly and constantly in the headmaster's line of sight; there was no picture. At the center of the black paper that the oval of silver encased was a tiny etching of the same ancient rune depicted on the frame itself, inked in a fine silver pen.

Huffing at the headmaster's eccentricities, Severus returned the frame to the desk and dropped, rather inelegantly, into the headmaster's chair. Albus Dumbledore was an exasperating man who twinkled happily when he could have explained, spoke in riddles, and always asked for more than any person could give. Why Severus missed the man was beyond him, but it was nonetheless true, and though he would deny it with every ounce of himself, he deeply wished for another chance to speak with the man, another opportunity to enjoy tea and impossible conversation that he would never admit to enjoying. At best, Severus would insist that Albus Dumbledore infuriated him, and he would leave it at that; even beyond the grave the man was still insufferable; Severus would insist this, since he was left with the weight of the damn key in his pocket.

The rest of the desk was cluttered with lamps and oil burners and various magical devices, including a time turner, carefully tucked inside a maroon velvet pouch. Settled on a swatch of dark silk by a bottle of ink and a quill was a dark grey rock. Curious, Severus picked it up and inspected it. There were no magical properties to it of which he could deduce, it did not glitter or display a particularly fine or even terribly rare coloring, and the shape of the thing was nothing remarkable. It was quite small, not even half the size of his palm, roughly oval in shape, and with curved sides that made it comfortable to hold. The weight of it was slightly more than Severus had expected, but it was still light, just enough heft to make him aware of something in his hand. The smooth greyness of it had been rubbed into a soft gleam, and it was a cool, soothing weight in his palm. Idly, Severus sat running a finger over the even surface of it, letting his mind wander, not feeling the ache of loss so much as he had just a moment before. Unnoticing, Severus dropped the stone into his pocket before he moved on with his search.

Inside the top drawer of Albus' desk was a small square slip of parchment that only caught Severus' attention because it was vibrantly red. As he picked it up he noticed the familiar scrawl that was the headmaster's distinct penmanship and at the bottom corner of the page was the same rune as from the picture frame. Severus read the insciption through once, and then again more carefully, wondering at reasoning behind Albus' careful recording of it.

_Said the knight to the age'd fool: 'I walk this path for at its end rests the most feared dragon in the land and I am a dragon-slayer."_

_"Because it is here, and ends there?" asked the man, and the knight knew at once to whom he spoke. "You are the one they say tamed the beast!"_

_"I make no such claim. But we have talked before." And here the old man_

_smiled such a smile of peace and pride and joy that Sir Genderan had never_

_before seen, not even on the fairest face of the mightiest queen._

_"Know this, bold knight," said the man. "A wild thing cannot be tamed,_

_nor any thing at all be ever truly known. But heed me now,_

_for this you need to hear: that any thing, great or small,_

_requires compassion to flourish at all, even those very things we fear._i'

The passage, Severus knew, was an excerpt from the tale of Sir Genderan,ii the dragon slaying knight who went off to slaughter a dragon and ended-up devoured by it. It had been a long while since he had read the tale, and he found himself seeking out the heavy tome from Albus' own shelves, as much driven by his own nostalgia, though he would never admit it, as by the possibility Albus might have included a further message in the original text.

It was a large tome, old and dusty and Severus thought it might be the very first edition of the work it was so worn. He withdrew it carefully from the shelf and placed it on the desk as gently as he could manage, turning the pages to the story from which the passage originated.

He read the section of the text through, and then skimmed the entirety of the story, but there was nothing that might shed any light on the mystery of his key, or why Albus would write-out a quotation of it and keep it so close to hand.

Severus was at a loss; with no way to pursue the strange mystery Albus had bestowed on him, and no idea where to turn for any further clues. A key without a lock was a key without purpose, and Severus had enough trust in the headmaster to refuse to accept that the key might just be a key, a simple metaphor perhaps, with no greater message behind it than the obvious. He hefted the tome gently and returned to the shelves preparing to replace it when he sucked in breath and nearly dropped the thing.

There, in the gap that the tome had left among the bookshelf, was a large version of the same rune as the parchment, on which the verse was written, and the absent photograph, and the picture frame. Hurriedly, Severus returned the tome to the desk and removed the books surrounding the marking. Beneath the runic marking burned into the mahogany wood, was a small disc of aged bronze that, when pushed aside, revealed a keyhole.

Severus had a moment of keen triumph, wishing dearly that he could say to the headmaster, _"ha! I solved your blasted riddle!"_ His moment of victory was overshadowed by his curiosity and a sudden and inexplicable apprehension, as if he were about to break a rule, which was silly, as Severus had never had any compunction about breaking rules as it suited him. Still, he could not help a quick glance about the room to make certain he was alone before he removed the key from his pocket and settled it into the keyhole. It slid into place smoothly, and not wanting to waste another moment, Severus twisted the key, hearing a satisfying 'click'. Severus held his breath as he stepped back.

Nothing happened.

"Damn the man," Severus snarled, wishing very much that he could throw something and give-in entirely to a fit of pique. Before he could fully lose himself in a tantrum, however, a faint glimmer from the back of the wall drew his attention as slowly words in a language Severus neither knew nor recognized, began to appear in sloping, warm golden letters.

"Damn the man." Severus snatched up a quill and parchment from the desk and carefully copied the markings that made-up the verse, pausing for a moment once he had completed his task, in case the door might simply open on its own. Five minutes later, when nothing had changed, Severus resigned himself, snatching the key from the lock.

"I refuse to be pushed down the rabbit hole by you yet again, Albus," Severus announced to the empty room. He returned everything to its appropriate place and dropped the key and the parchment onto the desk before turning and marching toward the door. He paused again with the worn door half-opened, turning back and looking up at the ornately carved desk almost lost amongst the scattered books and parchments. With another sigh, Severus strode back up to the desk and, with a muttered curse, retrieved the key and the parchment on which he had jotted the archaic markings of the verse. He folded the parchment three times and then shoved it into his pocket, before sweeping out of the office, the door slamming closed behind him.

…

Severus' intention had been to set the puzzle of the key aside and, in so much as it was possible, to get on with the business of adapting his work and responsibilities to more easily accommodate his new position as deputy headmaster, and forget about Albus' blasted inheritance.

Later that afternoon, however, Severus found himself mid-lecture, explaining to a class of Gryffindor and Slytherin fifth years the difference, however nuanced, between chopping finely and mashing to a pulp, when he realized he had also slipped something else into his pocket during his visit to Albus' office. The smooth stone rested in his pocket, cool to the touch.

Over the course of the week, rubbing the rock became a habit. When he was poring over the mysterious verse in a language that he was finally able to determine was a form of ancient Gaelic, or completing his marking, Severus usually had the rock in his palm, a comforting weight, and strangely grounding.

Two weeks after the death of Albus Dumbledore, Severus received a summons to the headmistress' office for tea, which brought with the message the compunded aggravation both of being interrupted in his work, and her presuming to fill Albus' place to the extent that she should take-up the tradition of weekly teas. Still, he found himself navigating the long corridors just the same.

Minerva answered the door on his second knock, with a slight smile, "Severus." He dipped his head and entered as she stepped aside.

Minerva's office was relatively sparse and exquisitely organized. Where Albus had preferred to have his office cluttered with portraits and books, magical artefacts and trinkets, Minerva kept the majority of her personal effects in her room, and the items needed for her teaching in her classroom. She had a small writing desk and chair set before a window, on which sat a rose-colored lamp, a quill and ink, and a tin of biscuits, as well as a mirror. Opposite the desk, beside the door, was a stretch of bookshelves occupied by an assortment of peculiar artefacts ranging from skulls of particular creatures to various awards Gryffindor house had collected over the years including, much to Severus' chagrin, the House Cup.

Minerva led him to the fireplace, offering him a seat in a wingback, tartan covered chair in front of the roaring fire, and began to pour tea without even asking if he should like any.

Narrowing his eyes, Severus steepled his fingers and settled back in the truly horrible chair. "Is this a necessary meeting, Minerva, or merely a social call?"

Minerva offered him a cup and saucer, pouring one for herself before she too sat back in her chair and came straight to the point. "You've been quite reclusive, Severus."

"I've been busy," he dismissed as he took a sip of his tea.

"As have we all, but we have managed, at least, to take meals in the Great Hall. I've barely seen you, and when I do you invariably distracted by some book or another. I am in support of research but not at the expense of one's health. I'm sure you can understand that I am concerned. As your friend, as much as your colleague."

Severus lifted an eyebrow at her. "I am not, as you believe, jeopardizing my health, I assure you. The elves bring food when I am unable to attend meals in the Great Hall. I have, as I have said, been rather busy."

"But with what, is the question? There has been no more work than is usual for this time of year, and while being deputy headmaster entails greater responsibility, I know from personal experience, it is not so much to warrant your apparently extensive studies."

"I have been preoccupied with the inheritance that Albus has left for me," Severus admitted, somewhat reluctantly. He had wanted to keep it private, in part because he was loathe to speak of something he himself did not quite understand, and also because it belonged to him, a gift from his mentor. Still, he trusted Minerva, she was as close to a friend as Severus had, and he could not begrudge her curiosity.

Carefully, Severus set his teacup aside and withdrew from his pocket the key and held it in his open palm. He felt a tightening in his chest and had to fight the urge to snap the key back when she picked it up but after a brief inspection, she offered it back to him. "I've not seen it before," she admitted.

"I have seen it in Albus' possession on occasion," Severus said. "But I never knew its purpose. In fact, I still do not, which is what has distracted me. Though it has yet to unlock anything, it has presented me with a perplexing riddle."

She surveyed him over the rim of her spectacles. "I know better than to offer my assistance, however, if you find there is something I might do to help…" she let the sentence hang, its conclusion plainly writent in the quirk of her brow.

"That is not necessary," he dismissed immediately, ignoring the downturn of her mouth, the only indication of her displeasure at his stubbornness.

"Well, you know where I am," she said, and rose from her seat. Severus followed suit quickly, eager to return to his office and the riddle that awaited him there. He had not quite reached the door when Minerva said, "Severus, do make an effort to appear at some meals in the Hall."

…

It was as much to thumb his nose at Minerva as to carry on his research that Severus brought the text on runes he'd withdrawn from the library down to the Great Hall to pore over during lunch. Poor manners, perhaps, but lunch was always a casual meal, and it wasn't as if he were blatantly reading at the table.

The rune that Severus had seen repeated in Albus' office was not, much to his chagrin, to be found in the majority of texts he'd perused in the library. When it did appear, its translation was different from any previous one he had managed to find. He was, however, prepared to give-up his search.

Adjusting his makeshift bookmark carefully, Severus settled into a chair beside professor Babbling, placing his book down in plain view and began to fill his plate. He was just dropping another slice of ham onto his plate when Bathsheda Babbling, teach of ancient runes, leaned over slightly to get a better look at his book. "Rune work, Severus? I didn't know Potions made use of them," she said, and smiled. She eyed the scrap of paper that was sticking out of the top of the text, on which he had copied out the rune he was looking for, and sighed in a sort of contented, satisfied way. "It's not often one sees that particular branch of runes. Even in teaching, we save those for the older students."

"The material on it is certainly contradictory," Severus said somewhat absently though in truth he was listening quite carefully. If there was one thing Bathsheda was skilled at, it was volunteering copious amounts of information on the slightest provocation.

"Haegliii always did confuse some of the more traditionalist translators," she said. "It's a rune of upheaval. That's the theory I generally agree with," she said, raising her napkin to wipe at the corner of her mouth before setting it down again. "The ancient rituals it appears in all have to do with that sort of thing, anyway. It speaks of spiritual struggle, overcoming obstacles, healing from a disruptive physical event."

"Haegl," Severus repeated thoughtfully. "It was the basis for the banishing charm, was it not?"

"Why, yes!" she exclaimed, happy to have found someone who knew something about the subject she was so passionate about. "It's an adaptive rune. That's rare, most are very specific, the advantage being they're easier to understand when they are translated, you see?"

"But surely that would restrict their use?"

"Yes. Haegl is used in some healing charms, some banishing charms, some defense charms, some blessing charms; it's quite a varied rune. At least, in comparison to say, Verdun, from another branch of runes, which can only really be used to ward off a particular breed of ivy. Or to heal after exposure to that ivy."

Severus mulled that over. "To perform any of the runic rituals, is an item ever involved?"

"I don't follow."

"Supposing there is a thing that needs protection, and a rune provides that protection; is a third party, such as a piece of jewelry, ever involved to bear the spell?" Severus tried, though he was fairly sure he knew the answer.

Bathsheda frowned and said, "Why, no. There isn't a spell really involved. The magic is intrinsic to the rune, so, to follow your example, there is only the thing being protected, and the rune for protection. The rune itself can be placed onto a piece of jewelry, but its intrinsic magic cannot be transferred."

Which meant that if Albus put the rune Haegl on a picture frame then it was the picture frame that he was attempting to protect, and not something else. Which didn't make sense, because who cared about a bloody picture frame? An antique, gaudy one at that? One without even a photograph in it?

Severus thanked Bathseda absently, his mind turning the new information around as he finished lunch. As soon as he had finished his meal, Severus exited the Great Hall in a flurry of black robes, walking swiftly to the headmaster's office where he paced up the steps to Albus' desk and snatched up the picture frame.

Albus could not be attempting to protect the frame. The sort of protection the Haegl rune offered was not the sort a frame, no matter how delicate, would need. The only other solution, then, was that the rune had some other meaning to the old man, some meaning that Severus would not find in a book; but perhaps he would find it behind the damned passage, which was blocked by the damned riddle that Severus was in the middle of translating.

Setting the frame back onto the cluttered desk, Severus stormed back to his office.

…

Spurred by his seccess in discovering the meaning of the rune, if not the reason as to its presence, Severus set to work on translating the verse with renewed determination. It was four o'clock in the morning, but he felt only triumph as he re-read the riddle from the parchment littered with his scrunched, loopy writing, rubbing at his eyes tiredly and wishing for some further illumination.

_I am the lone wood in the warp of battle,_

_Wounded by iron, broken by blade,_

_Weary of war. Often I see_

_Battle rush, rage, fierce fight flaring –_

_I hold no hope for help to come_

_Before I fall finally with warriors_

_Or feel the flame. The hard hammer leavings_

_Strike me; the bright edged, battle sharp_

_Handiwork of smiths bites in battle._

_Always I must wait the harder encounter_

_For I could never find in the world any_

_Of the race of healers who could heal my hard wounds_

_With roots and herbs. So I suffer_

_Sword slash and death-wound day and night._ iv

The answer to the riddle escaped him, though he suspected the reason had something to do with the fact that he had been working so long on translating the bloody thing, and his mind was still swimming with the nuances of a language he had know absolutely nothing about just two weeks ago. Resigned to let the riddle of the key stand for another night, he put his things away, leaving out the copy with the translated verse on it and, as he climbed into bed, he set the parchment on the nightstand, in case some inspiration came in the night.

Four days later, on Saturday, Severus found time to sit down with the verse again. The hols were swiftly approaching and he had been assigning quite a number of essays and tests for his students, which made class time quite enjoyable, if not quiet, but cut-down severely on his free time. With all the effort that went into translating the verse, Severus was shocked to find that solving the damned riddle was so simple. It was somewhat disappointing, except for the simple fact that there was still the larger riddle to solve, pertaining to the mystery of the key itself and what it was that it unlocked.

With a brief glance at the clock, Severus rose from his chair and, resolved to skip dinner for the sake of this mystery, made his way up the eight flights of stairs that separated his rooms from the headmaster's office, and stepped into the cluttered room, not quite able to convince himself that he wasn't curious and just the slightest bit excited.

Briskly, but carefully, Severus removed the tomes from the shelf and revealed the Haegl rune carved onto the back wall. He inserted his key in the lock and twisted it, waiting patiently as the archaic scratchings of the riddle were revealed, and then read the passage aloud, because he was not certain what procedure should be taken to open the passage. He read it first in the abrupt, husky staccato lilt that was the original Gaelic, and then he read it in English, just to be certain. Finally, with a twinge of anticipation, Severus gave the answer to the riddle: "Shield."

There was a click and a creak, followed by a silence. A moment more, and Severus remembered to breathe. Another moment, and he was able to extend a hand and slide the door aside, revealing a narrow, winding stone staircase that twisted to the right and out of sight. Gripping his wand, and fully prepared to use it if the need arose, Severus climbed the steps slowly and after winding upwards in a circle several times, arrived at a heavy oak door that had been painted green.

There were no riddles, nor even any locks preventing Severus from pushing the door open, much to his relief, and what it revealed gave Severus pause, contradicting as it did what Severus knew of the man he had called a friend.

Albus' office might have been a frightful mess after his passing, but in life he had always been meticulous. Each paper was properly filed, each tome suitably shelved, and every curious contraption resting in an appropriately logical place. The room that lay beyond the green door, however, was an explosion of parchment and opened books and clutter, as if Albus' last visit to the room had been in a great hurry. As he stepped further inside, Severus noted that the room small, but very brightly lit by large windows that spanned the length of one wall and looked out toward the mountains.

A glimpse at some of the pages revealed a curious assortment of remarkably details sketches of thing, some magical and some non-magical. He paused on an inked sketch of the school, and then again on a detailed image of himself standing on the school grounds, an arm raised up, offering a perch for Fawkes. He frowned at the image and turned to the next parchment, a rough sketch of slittled eyes that, even wtihout an accompanying face, Severus could recognize as Voldemort's. He backed away from the desk with a hiss of surprise.

It was ultimately the sound emanating from the other room that drew Severus out of his shocked daze and toward the other door. It was a slow, almost lilting hiss that Severus had not noticed when he'd first entered. A moment later, there was a faint pop, as if a house elf were doing magic in the vicinity.

Unlike the brightly lit office space, the room that he walked into was very large, and relatively dark. Heavy curtains covered the windows, but the sunlight was peaking through a crack where the thick grey-blue curtains joined. A faded rug covered stone floor, and though, as in the Great Hall, there were candles floating near the tall ceiling, and several candelabras about the room, none of them were lit save one candle in each corner of the room and one on either side of the large four poster bed that occupied the far wall. It was enough light, however, to illuminate what lay on the bed. Severus was at a loss for words.

On the middle of the indigo and silver sheets, sprawled on his stomach, was a slender young man clad in green flannel pajamas. He had dark messy hair and a pert mouth, lips parted slightly in slumber. Long lashes kissed pale cheeks and the youth sighed softly in his sleep, nose wrinkling before once again relaxing into slumber.

Severus did not pause a moment longer to analyze the source of the hissing or the pop, or to ponder what on earth Albus was doing with a young man locked away in a tower. He turned on his heel and promptly fled in the direction that he had come.

…

Given how long he had known the woman, she having been his own Transfiguration professor when he'd been at school, it only made sense that, after having fled the headmaster's office, Severus should find himself pacing in front of the familiar fireplace in his colleague's office. Her curious clucking was quite calming in a way, until of course, her patience snapped.

"Really, Severus, this is most irregular!" Minerva said, pacing alongside him a few times before throwing up her hands and settling on a couch to watch. "What on earth has happened? If you would tell me, perhaps I could be of assistance!"

"Help!" he scoffed.

"What is the matter!" she cried, at wits-end already. She paused a moment to think and frowned at him. "Has this anything to do with your inheritance? Severus, really, I would help you with the riddle, if you'd only ask!"

"It's not the riddle," Severus snapped. "I've solved Albus' damned riddle!"

"Then what is the matter?"

Severus whirled on the headmistress. "I've inherited a boy, Minerva!"

"A what?"

"A boy. Albus has been keeping a youth locked away in a room behind his office."

"I've never heard of …"

"Nor have I, but nevertheless, there he is." Severus stopped pacing and collapsed into a chair, running his hands through his hair in agitation.

"Why would Albus have a child?" Minerva wondered. "And why on earth would he give that child to you?"

"Your confidence in me, Minerva, is quite comforting," Severus drawled.

"Come now, Severus, you and I both know that Albus understood very well that you did not have any interest in being a father."

Grudgingly, Severus said, "The boy seemed old enough to no longer need one."

A slender eyebrow quirked upward as she repeated, "Seemed?"

"I hardly joined the brat for tea," Severus snapped, and immediately rose from his chair and resumed his pacing. "What on earth am I to do with him?"

"Did you say anything to him? Did you ask him anything?" Minerva questioned.

"Of course I didn't. I was hardly prepared to find out that Albus was stashing students in secret rooms protected by elaborate riddles!"

"Don't be so dramatic. I'm sure there's a perfectly sensible reason for all of this."

"We are speaking of _Albus Dumbledore_!"

"Precisely, and there was always sense to his schemes, even those that seemed utterly peculiar."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, tilting his head forward so his dark hair slid forward and hid his face. "Your faith, I find, is hardly helping." He stopped pacing and sighed heavily. "I suppose you would counsel me to have a merry chat with the child."

"There seems little else you can do at this time." She was irritatingly calm, though Severus dismissed that as being because she wasn't the one who had inherited a stange young man. "The most appropriate course of action cannot be determined without further information."

…

It took two days for Severus to compose himself enough to return to Albus' office, and when he did, he did not venture near the bookshelf that hid the secret passage for some time. He busied himself with rifling through some of the documents the house elves were having difficulty sorting. His attention, however, frequently drifted toward that particular book on that particular bookshelf, and finally Severus found himself removing the tome just as he had done before. Just as before, the riddle appeared when he inserted the key, and he read it aloud and spoke its solution. Just as before, the door was revealed and Severus climbed the steps.

i Said the knight to the age'd fool:

'I walk this path for at its end rests the most feared dragon in the land and I am a dragon-slayer."

"Because it is here, and ends there?" asked the man, and the knight knew at once to whom he spoke. "You are the one they say tamed the beast!"

"I make no such claim. But we have talked before." And here the old man

smiled such a smile of peace and pride and joy that Sir Genderan had never

before seen, not even on the fairest face of the mightiest queen.

"Know this, bold knight," said the man. "A wild thing cannot be tamed,

nor any thing at all be ever truly known. But heed me now,

for this you need to hear: that any thing, great or small,

requires compassion to flourish at all, even those very things we fear. '

ii I'm sure this is plainly obvious, but I thought I should point out that this 'excerpt' is entirely fictitious. As far as I know, there is no tale of Sir Genderan and a dragon.

iii Haegl is an actual rune, but is not, as I've made it out to be, more or less elusive than any of the others. I've attempted to get its meaning correct, but there are always minor differences about these things, let's leave some room for creative interpretation.

iv I am the lone wood in the warp of battle,

Wounded by iron, broken by blade,

Weary of war. Often I see

Battle rush, rage, fierce fight flaring –

I hold no hope for help to come

Before I fall finally with warriors

Or feel the flame. The hard hammer leavings

Strike me; the bright edged, battle sharp

Handiwork of smiths bites in battle.

Always I must wait the harder encounter

For I could never find in the world any

Of the race of healers who could heal my hard wounds

With roots and herbs. So I suffer

Sword slash and death-wound day and night.

This is an actual riddle I've taken from the Exeter Book. I believe it's the third riddle that appears there. Of course, in this fic, it's not actually from the Exeter Book, and not as easily translated; I couldn't make things too easy for Severus, right? Nor is the Exeter book Gaelic.


	2. The Boy In The Tower

_The Sins and Sorrows of Albus Dumbledore_

By: Gold-Snitcher

Chapter Two: The Boy in the Tower

-----------------------------

He was seated on the window-ledge in the same room that Severus had come upon him before. His dark hair that glistened in the direct light of the sun streaming through the window was as messy as it had appeared when he had been fast asleep. Unlike the other boys that occupied Hogwarts, this one wore neither a school uniform nor jeans, but instead was clad in brown linen pants that hung loose off the his lean frame and a plain white T-shirt, perhaps a size or two larger than Madame Malkim would have allowed if the boy had been outfitted in her shop.

Severus stood in the doorway for a moment, not quite sure how to proceed. His position at the school forced him to interact regularly with students who were in the grips of all forms of teenage angst; he had not, however, been in a situation that had forced him to deal with a strange anonymous youth who had been, apparently, secreted away in a tower by a very old and eccentric wizard. He wondered where he should begin his conversation. Should he introduce himself? Should he explain how he got there? Should he demand to know who the boy was?

All of this whirred through Severus' mind in a matter of moments, and through all of it, he could not take his eyes from the boy who sat in the window; the boy did not stir. Finally, though he had come to no decision as to how to proceed, Severus stepped into the room, and as if they had come to a mutual decision, the boy turned to him and showed no surprise at his presence, nor concern. Instead, in a voice as soft as spun silk and smooth as honey, said, "Albus is dead, isn't he?"

It seemed as good a place as any to begin, so Severus stepped further into the room and nodded his head once, watching keenly for some reaction. "He is."

The boy licked his lips nervously and glanced to the side, towards the light and the grounds of Hogwarts before his gaze flickered back to Severus. "I knew he was."

Silence descended, though it was not entirely awkward. Severus felt a vague sort of pressure of responsibility, as if he understood that the boy had been passed into his care and that meant he should make an attempt to learn a bit about him, to set-up some sort of arrangement to rationalize this bizarre situation. There were no arrangements to be made however, because the boy seemed perfectly content to stay in his tower, and Severus felt no desire to argue with that. He had not been prepared to receive this secret that Albus had kept, he had not anticipated anything like this when he had worked on the puzzle of the key.

"I am Severus Snape," Severus said when the silence had seemed to have continued long enough. "The Potions Master at Hogwarts."

The boy looked at him keenly, his gaze seeming to reach into the very depths of him. Severus showed no outward reaction to the close gaze but he occluded his mind to the best of his abilities – just in case. Finally, the boy slid from the ledge and stood several steps away, making no move to bridge the distance. "I'm Harry Potter," the boy, Harry, introduced. He said nothing further, made no attempt to explain his presence in a secret chamber linked to the school's headmaster's office. Instead, Harry Potter walked back to his bed where he knelt and proceeded to reach for something that was apparently tucked under the mattress. Severus averted his eyes.

Harry returned with a fairly large, black leather-bound book in his hands, the papers inside were uneven as if, in addition to the book's pages other sheets had been placed there for safekeeping. On top of the leather-bound book was a smaller book, this one either considerably older than the other, or more poorly bound. It was a faded green and a brief glance at the surface revealed archaic designs etched in green ink, the ink so closely matching the colour of the book cover that Severus caught himself squinting.

"I suppose I should give you these," Harry said as he held them out.

"Why on earth would you do that?" Severus asked, making no move to accept the books.

"You have the key, don't you?" Harry asked, as if this explained everything. Severus accepted the books with trepidation, unsure what the significance of them was. He was tired of riddles; the last one he had discovered had only led him to trouble.

"What are they?" Severus asked. Harry had seemingly dismissed him, which irritated Severus to no end, but there was an air about the boy – something otherworldly – that made Severus hesitant to respond, as he was sorely tempted to.

From where he stood by the entrance to a door that Severus had not noticed in his previous visit, Harry looked at him with raised eyebrows and answered simply, "The Bumblebee's journals."

……………………

Severus spent the weekend in his rooms preparing potions and marking papers. On his desk sat the two books as well as the rock he had unwittingly picked-up when he'd first searched the headmaster's office for a clue to the riddle of his key.

Periodically, Severus would glance-up from the paper he was marking and glare at the books, but he was tired of riddles and manipulative old wizards alike. He did not think on Harry Potter who stayed locked in a tower that, to Severus' knowledge, no one but he and the boy and the dead headmaster knew of.

Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Severus tried very hard not to think on Harry Potter, but the very notion of the eccentric wizard who had been as a father to Severus keeping a boy locked in a secret chamber in his office was so very bizarre that Severus would find his gaze once again rooted on the books that sat innocently on his desk.

He reminded himself that he was tired of being manipulated, but the saying about the cat's curiosity must have been true because Sunday evening found Severus seated at his desk and glaring at the leather-bound black book – which seemed as good a place to start as any – and a neatly folded piece of parchment with his name etched elegantly in Albus Dumbledore's familiar script which he had found inside.

In sharp, jerky movements, Severus snatched up the letter, broke the wax seal harshly but easily, and flipped the letter open – scowling all the more when he began to read it.

_My Dear Boy,_

Albus began, and Severus spent a few minutes glaring darkly and wishing quite fervently that his mentor were still alive because he dearly wanted to kill him.

_I trust you have solved the puzzle of the key and that it has revealed to you it's most important secret. I know I do not need to ask of you that you keep the key safe. I have entrusted this task to you because it is you, above all, that I feel is most suited to the quest that lies ahead. _

_In addition to the key, I pass into your good keeping every door that it may open and those things within those rooms that require such attendance. In an effort to aid your slaying of this great beast of a puzzle I have entrusted to you, I am leaving in your possession my journals for your perusal. It is my hope they guide your journey and offer insights as they did me, though preferably your insights will come sooner than mine did. Hindsight, my boy, is quite perfect – though, arguably, its uses are frustratingly limited._

_You now have in your possession my very dearest secrets. Since you so very much enjoy riddles, I hope you enjoy my gift to you – for it is a gift, my boy. For now, I shall rest more comfortably knowing that the key is in your good keeping. _

_See to it that those rooms get a bit of airing out._

_Albus_

Severus sat very still for a while, letting the letter sink-in. Just like the man himself had been, the letter was bizarre and ambiguous. Severus immediately realized the letter was written as it was because the man had been unsure who might come across it. No direct mention was made, for example, of Harry Potter, but Severus knew that the references to 'the key' and what the key might open were in fact references to the boy – though Severus did not understand some of it. He had also noticed immediately the references to Sir Genderan and his tale. Albus was drawing a very distinct parallel between Sir Genderan and Severus himself; clearly Albus was thinking of himself as the old man in the story, and Severus was apparently he dragon-slayer – which meant that Potter was the dragon?

Severus re-read the portion of the letter that mentioned 'the beast of a puzzle' and realized that yes, Albus was referring to Harry as the dragon, which of course carried the warning for Severus not to fall into the rash action and thought that had gotten Sir Genderan killed in the story. It bore thinking on.

With his mind whirring as a result of the letter, Severus hid the journals as well as the key and then settled himself by the fireplace to think.

On Tuesday morning, in the period that he had free between double potions with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw fifth years and his seventh year class, Severus made his way through the headmaster's office, and up the familiar staircase that was revealed with the twist of a key and a whisper.

His stride was purposeful, though if there was a reason for his visit, Severus was not yet aware of it. He assumed something might strike him when he found the boy. Perhaps demand answers? Explanations?

He pushed open the door to the boy's bedroom without knocking – if the youth was still in bed at this hour then some rules would certainly have to be set in place – and stopped in his tracks with the realization that the room, while looking much as it had when he had been here the times before, was lacking in one important thing – Harry Potter.

The office-like space that Severus had come through to access the bedroom had been empty, and there had been no sign of any doors there either, it was still a chaotic space cluttered with papers and books and maps and mysteries that Severus had yet to examine with a fine eye. "Mr. Potter," Severus stated loudly, refusing the indignity of shouting. There was no answer, and Severus checked the two doors that led off from the bedroom just to be certain.

A bathroom was behind one door, equipped with a very fine bath, a sink and mirror and a cupboard where fresh towels were stored. The room was surprisingly cold and dank, considering the bright and open bedroom. In stark contrast the bathroom, while certainly appearing clean and orderly – also appeared disturbingly cave-like, and the tub, quite large and sunken just like the one in the prefect's bathroom, and certainly far more elaborate than Severus' own staff tub, was fashioned so that the water could run from the pipes and fill the tub like a waterfall. In one corner, Severus even noted a strange tree in a very large pot that seemed to be growing quite happily despite the lack of sunlight.

The second room Severus found had an allure like a siren's call. He found himself both drawn to it, and likewise leery. Peering through the opened door, Severus noted the plain stone floor was covered with large squares of colourful fabric. The walls were wooden and runes were cut into the dark wood reminding Severus of Cybil Trelawney's walls in the Divinition classroom. Unlike Trelawney's classroom, however, there was no cloying incense or cluttered furnishings. Instead, the small space was practically empty save for one rustic wooden table that sat low to the ground and held three stout candles, that was against one wall, beneath a window, and a trunk.

Severus recognized the trunk immediately as being the sort of thing that had many compartments and sometimes hidden rooms within, but he knew the boy could not be inside because the lid was appropriately locked and closed, and it was impossible for someone to be inside the trunk and close the lid after them – unless of course someone had trapped them inside on purpose – but since no one knew of this tower, Severus was fairly certain the boy had escaped his rooms by another means.

Realization that the boy had indeed left his rooms momentarily intrigued the potions master, who wondered where the boy had gone, and why, and how he had gotten there. Surely if the boy were in the habit of waltzing through the headmaster's entrance someone would have seen him after all these years? But then, Severus had no idea how long the boy had been living in these tower quarters.

He was soon distracted from puzzling the boy's habits as a very Slytherin curiosity decided to take advantage of the boy's absence. Since the room he was standing in, while bizarre and unnerving in its subtle magical residue, had nothing he could actively investigate without some clue as to the purpose of the room, Severus returned to the bedroom.

The room was bright and open, without the unnerving brat occupying the space and somehow making it seem cramped; Severus noticed how the wall of windows let in the bright sun, spilling patterns of light on the rug. The ceiling, like that in the Great Hall, was bewitched to show the sky, and the curtains surrounding the bed had faint gold stars that contrasted with the dark indigo fabric. The room was done in various blues, and Severus thought that if he closed the grey-blue curtains against the sunlight, he might feel as if he were floating in the sky – or perhaps the ocean.

Unlike the study area, this room was neatly organized, and Severus saw not a single piece of clothing strewn about the floor. The bed was neatly made – Severus stared at the bed a moment as he came to the startling realization that his previous assumption that he was alone in the room was inaccurate. On the bed, curled around itself in a patch of sunlight at the foot of the bed was a very large and very green snake. Severus did not recognize the type of serpent, but its size and the shape of its head led him to believe this one might be poisonous. It looked vaguely like an Egyptian temple snake, except that it was very green. Severus stood in the centre of the room staring at the snake, who stared back at him with lazy interest. Finally, he began to move about again, though he kept a hold of his wand and kept an eye on the snake.

On a nightstand against the wall was a plate and a glass, the contents of which had obviously been consumed – which meant that somewhere in this castle was a house elf that knew of Albus Dumbledore's best kept secret. There was also a pad and pencil beside the plate which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be a sketchpad. The boy was clearly the owner of the study outside, and not Albus, which had been Severus' original assumption, and all of the sketches Severus had caught a brief glimpse of in his passing were the handiwork of Harry Potter. The boy was clearly talented. Page after page revealed life-like sketches of plants and people and animals. Some of the sketches were clearly works of imagination as Severus had never seen or heard of any creatures that looked like what he found drawn in the book.

His perusal of the book was brought to a halt as he came to a sketch of Albus himself. The expression was one that Severus had seen on occasion; those rare moments where the damning twinkle ceased being amused and turned to something – else – something fond. Like a doting grandfather, instead of the meddling wizard he was. The wrinkles around the man's eyes made him seem disturbingly vulnerable. Severus found it difficult to look at the sketch and closed the book, returning it to its place.

Severus closed the book abruptly, unwilling to examine his reaction to the sketch, and, with another brief glance at the empty rooms, disappeared down the narrow staircase.

……………………

Fawkes appeared on Tuesday, his feet curling around the back of one of Severus' chairs and eyeing the potions' master's rooms with a surveying eye. Fawkes had never been in Severus' rooms before, so he imagined the phoenix might be a bit curious.

It felt very strange, having Albus Dumbledore's familiar in his rooms – looking so comfortable there. He did his best to ignore the bird, but he was very conscious of the fact that the brightly coloured phoenix was in his rooms. Severus felt, oddly enough, as if Albus himself were there watching him work – and that made him feel a bit like a child again which was not something that Severus enjoyed. He retired early to bed.

When he awoke the next morning, Fawkes had moved. At first, Severus thought with relief that the bird had fled entirely, but then he noticed the bird was perched instead on the grate in front of the fireplace. The bird gave an amused little trill when it caught sight of Severus, but he ignored the sound and the bird and instead settled at his desk to accomplish some marking before his first class.

At a quarter passed eight, there was a firm rap on his door that, when permission was granted, opened to reveal Minerva McGonagall who entered Severus' chambers in that abrupt manner she had. "Severus," she began, then was distracted by Fawkes, who fluttered his feathers a bit and observed her. "Oh my."

"Indeed," Severus commented, raising his eyes only briefly from the essays on his desk before returning to his marking. "Was there a purpose for this visit?" he inquired, when she continued to stare at the bird.

"The Wizengamot wishes to host a memorial for Albus. I shall be attending next Thursday," she explained.

"Then I shall, as deputy headmaster, look after the school," he answered.

"Yes," she said, her gaze drifting back to Fawkes. "How long?" she inquired, her voice trailing off at the end of her sentence.

"Sometime yesterday. I returned to my rooms and to be greeted by him. He seems to have taken over this room," he answered, eyeing the bird darkly.

"Odd," Minerva said. "Seeing him here – anywhere outside of the headmaster's office and away from Albus' side – it makes it somehow more real."

"Hm," Severus commented, not quite able to voice his agreement.

"Well, if he has chosen you –" Minerva said, snapping herself out of her reverie.

"Dear Merlin, I hope not," Severus snarked, which earned him a chuckle from his friend.

"It does contradict your image," she agreed.

"He will be handy for potions," Severus directed at the bird with a sinister smile. Fawkes simply ruffled his feathers and trilled in a way that suggested the dratted creature might be laughing at him.

………………..

"Stop that," Severus insisted as he carefully added the worrywort to the potion he was brewing. It was a critical stage, and one false move could quite easily blow up the entirety of the dungeons, and Fawkes – who had stationed himself on the desk, his talons curling around the edge of an empty cauldron, was ruffling his feathers and shifting impatiently.

It occurred to Severus the phoenix needed to be let out to fly about, but as he remembered, Fawkes had always come and gone as he pleased from Albus' office, and rarely waited for someone to open a window. "Cease and desist! Dratted bird!" Severus snarled as again Fawkes fluttered his wings. It did not look as if it were nearing the bird's burning day. As far as Severus could, with his scant knowledge of phoenixes, and of this one in particular, he could not grasp what the thing's problem was.

Moving slowly, and trying his very best to ignore the twitching bird, Severus picked-up the bubotuber puss, preparing to add it to the brew when Fawkes snapped forward, knocking the bottle of the puss to the table and squawking in a most undignified fashion for a phoenix. "Get out!" Severus roared. "Get out this instant! Out!" He swatted and snarled until, in a flash of flame, the bird disappeared.

Enraged at his ruined potion, Severus returned to the desk on which he had been brewing and prepared to clear away the remains of the puss and of the potion. A quick glance at the bubbling green-yellow throbbing mass on his desk, however, caused him to pause, and in sudden realization he vanished the mass before it could eat into his desk any further. It wasn't bubotuber puss. He must have mixed the vials. If he had indeed managed to add the aresenium puss, which is what he had mistaken for bubotuber puss, then the potion would have exploded, and likely taken himself and his desk with it.

"Damn that bird," Severus huffed, and set about repairing the desk.

…………….

Fawkes returned in the evening to Severus' chambers, although the phoenix avoided him. Instead it perched overly the poorly mended wood on the table that had been nearly burned-through after the potions accident, and watched Severus move about the lab with birdlike defiance. Severus chafed under the bird's gaze, but refused to apologize.

When it came time to retire the bird squawked once and fluttered his wings about Severus' and head, and Severus swatted the bird away. "Yes, yes. You were right. I was wrong. In future I will heed your sage advice. Bugger off!" and he slammed his bedroom door behind him. That night, Severus fell asleep questioning his sanity and resenting Albus Dumbledore's bloody bird.

………………

"Severus," Peter Mirchwood said as he bustled into Severus' classroom as the students filed out. "Oh my!" he exclaimed. What Severus at first thought was directed to the familiar phoenix perched on an empty cauldron was in fact directed to the simple stone that lay on his desk. "My, my," Peter Mirchwood said.

"Yes," Severus drawled, because he did not quite feel like letting on that, to him, it was merely a plain little stone that held no significance whatsoever and was nothing to gush at as this man seemed to be doing.

"May I?" professor Mirchwood asked. Severus raised an eyebrow, which the shorter man must have interpreted as acceptance, because he picked-up the stone like a sacred object, then tossed it back-and-forth from palm to palm. Severus realized the man seemed to be assessing the stone, though he had no idea why the man would do such a thing. He had found, however, that the best way to work with naturally chatty people, was to remain very quiet and very aloof --- they inevitably ended-up telling you everything. On this score, Michwood did not disappoint.

"I've never quite seen a grounding stone like this," the arithmancy professor mumbled, almost to himself. "They're usually precious stones. This looks completely plain. What kind of stone is it?" Mirchwood asked. Severus answered with a lifted eyebrow in lieu of admitting that he hadn't the foggiest notion, save that it was a black stone. "Yes, I can imagine you might wish to keep it to yourself. Clearly belongs to a gifted wizard. Quite powerful indeed." Which made sense, given that he had found the stone on Albus Dumbledore's desk, and wasn't he the most gifted wizard of the lot of them? "I would have liked to have seen it at work. The one who belongs to it wouldn't mind an audience, do you think? It's a hobby of mine," Mirchwood quickly explained. "I'm absolutely fascinated by the use of these stones in particular. The process, sharing power with a stone that previously holds not real magic, but through the sharing, becomes a link from user to earth. Precious, semi-precious stones are used but to turn a completely plain stone into a grounding stone? Spectacular. And for someone of such power, it would have to work extraordinarily well to bring them back to earth."

"Bring them back?" Severus could not help himself asking.

"Of course," Mirchwood explained. "All the truly gifted Seers use them. To keep them centred when they do truly deep scryings or readings."

When the man seemed about to press Severus for more information about the person who 'belonged to the stone', Severus redirected the man. "Did this visit have a purpose?" he inquired.

"Oh, yes," Mirchwood replaced the stone on the desk gently and brushed down his robes. "I've come for that stomach potion you brewed up for me."

"Ah," Severus retrieved the potion and handed it over. When the door closed, Severus eyed Fawkes critically. "A Seer?" he asked the bird. He looked at the stone and sneered. "It explains so much about the old bat."

---------------------------

End Chapter Two:

---------------------------


	3. The Bumblebee's Journals

_The Sins and Sorrows of Albus Dumbledore_

Gold-Snitcher

**Chapter Three:** The Bumblebee's Journals

-------------------------

Albus Dumbedore's tidy scrawl was small and cramped and familiar. As Harry Potter had indicated, this was indeed one of Albus Dumbledore's journals. The first several pages of the black, leather-bound book explained its existence almost as if Albus had been intentionally writing it for someone to find. This was not the only journal in existence; Albus made reference to a library of his thoughts and experiences recorded with the hope that someone might further understand 'a little bit of something important'. Albus did not elaborate any further, and Severus was too engrossed in the reading to consider the existence of a personal library containing apparently not only journals but also significant works of literature throughout history. This particular journal had been recorded with the intention to describe the missions and motivations of The Order of the Phoenix, which, as a secret organization, would never be mentioned in explicit detail in any regular Wizarding history text.

Following the two-page explanation, Severus found the first entry. There was no date, nor any hints as to the time save for the title: _Entry One_. Still, he could recognize the events being described as being fairly recent, having happened only thirteen years ago when the war against Voldemort was looking particularly grim. As he read, Severus realized as well that the pages of the journal had been spelled, for the book was pulling him into it until he was a part of its pages – as if the experiences were almost his own. As if he had himself been there for all that the tidy scrawl described.

_Entry 1:_

_In this time of war; in this, the darkest of times, all measures must be taken – indeed, any measure must be taken – to overcome this darkness and to maintain that way of life to which we have become accustomed._

_The attack on the Ministry occurred this night, as expected. Over fifty Death Eaters and Voldemort himself making a ruin of the surrounding streets and the Ministry, it is affirmation that Voldemort does not suspect our spy within his ranks. The supposition as to his target proved correct as well, but the attack was the distraction needed for Alastor and Arthur to gain access to the Department of Mysteries. They have returned with the map and the crystal, and for that there is a victory in this night – amidst the many losses._

_I have taken great pains to keep the contents of the map secret, even from my most trusted members of the Order. Few know that anything was retrieved at all, and fewer still know what exactly it was that was taken from the Ministry. If the contents are as I believe them to be, then secrecy is the only means of success. It is dangerous enough now that it is certain Voldemort knows of the map._

_With this in mind I have selected a group to accompany me on this task. Minerva has been entrusted with the school. She has voiced not a single question as to where I am going, knowing that at times, matters for the Order must be kept quiet. I must be careful, as it seems increasingly clearer that there is a spy within our own ranks, though who that person may be, I cannot tell._

_I have gathered the necessities for the journey, but it is prudent to leave as quickly as possible and we leave tonight …_

Albus Dumbledore did not look much younger thirteen years ago than he had on the night he had died. His hair was still long and white, and his blue eyes still twinkled, and he still wore his half-moon spectacles. But the pinched exhaustion that had haunted his features in his last days was not present, and it was such a welcome relief to see the man standing there, that Severus stared unashamedly for several minutes before his mind caught up with him and pointed out that something very wrong was happening. It didn't take long to recognize the spell on the journal, however, and Severus resigned himself to be dragged along for the ride.

Rather like a pensieve, this spell used on the journal would drag the reader in to view the events first-hand, though they would have no interaction or influence whatsoever. Like any good book where the reader grew so involved with the characters and the world described that arriving at the book's conclusion was jarring because the reader realized they were in fact, not a part of that world.

Severus and the headmaster were in Albus' quarters where the man, clad in a dark blue robe, was closing a large satchel and hefting it onto his back. Severus followed the older wizard from the rooms and out the headmaster's office where already Mad-Eye Moody, Lily Potter, Frank Longbottom, Peter Pettigrew and another man, who Severus could vaguely assume must be Patrick Perriwether, stood together, each carrying a satchel of their own.

"Do you have the crystal, Alastor?" Albus asked.

"Right here," Alastor said, and placed a crystal that was the size of a man's fist down onto the headmaster's desk.

"We haven't much time. If you have any wish to stay behind, let me know immediately. Otherwise, we'd best be off." When no one said anything, Albus arranged the group into a circle and they each placed a hand on the crystal. Severus, not sure whether he himself needed to be physically touching the crystal in order to accompany them, stood very close to Albus and Moody, and stretched his own hand forward.

Unlike portkeying there was no dizzying spin, and unlike apparition there was no stomach-jarring pop arrival. One moment they were standing in the headmaster's office, the next, with only the vaguest rippling sensation, Severus could hear the ocean and feel a tree root under his feet.

"We've arrived," Albus announced, though it was hardly necessary to do so. They broke apart and gaped. They stood in what could only be described as a jungle, but not one Severus had ever heard or seen before. The greens of the leaves were dark and full, the flowers large and brightly colored. Beneath their feet was dark, rich earth, and every plant seemed to thrive in the strange environment for their scale was beyond anything Severus had seen before, even growing under Pomona Sprout's care – and she had quite the green-thumb. As Severus surveyed the surrounds he noticed that to the right was a slope that led into a lake the water of which was somewhat murky, and growing out of the water was more trees with leaves that hung low like a willow. "The map directs us to walk this way," Albus said, recalling the group's attention.

The air was hot and humid, Severus could feel the moisture licking at his skin, but he himself was unaffected by it because he was not entirely present in whatever strange place they were, he was merely experiencing the description of it, as Albus had recorded in his journals. So while the others batted at large bugs that irritated but did not bite, and sweated and panted, Severus strolled beside the group and tried to get a glimpse of the map Albus was following.

"The island is called Anic," Albus stated suddenly. Peter tripped over a tree-root and Lily smiled and helped him regain his balance. "I've just made out this handwriting."

"What does that mean?" Patrick inquired as he walked.

"I have absolutely no idea," Albus said, his voice tinged with amusement. "Ah," he said. "This way." They walked for one day, and then pitched their tents and slept, each of them taking turns remaining awake and guarding the camp. There was nothing to guard against. In the night, the air got cold and the moisture from the sweat and humidity of the day would have made the traveler's ill if they had not carried their wands with them.

By mid-morning of the next day the group was brought to an abrupt halt when the path they were following passed between two very large rock faces that towered above them. Part of the rocks had been hollowed out and packed with human skulls – there were too many to count.

"Are the natives cannibals?" Lily asked as she peered closer at the skulls.

"I cannot say," Albus said. "I know only of a legend that they protect a great power."

"If it's got You-Know-Who tearing off after it, I'd say it's more than a legend," Moody grumbled.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Peter offered as he stepped further back from the skulls.

"How do you intend to communicate with them, Albus?" Lily asked. "I can't imagine they'd know our language."

"There are spells for that sort of thing," Albus said. "We must keep moving."

"Do you feel the wards?" Frank whispered to Patrick as they passed between the rocks.

"Incredible," Patrick said.

"They'd have to be quite adept, to have Albus and You-Know-Who both seeking them out," Moody said. "It won't make much difference if they eat us, though. Constant vigilance!"

Along the way Severus noted at least fourteen skulls mounted on spears, decorated with feathers and beads, and each time they passed another the group would slow and whisper but they did not stop.

Finally, as the group began to consider stopping for dinner, they came across a stone wall as tall as the peculiarly tall trees, and covered in vines. There were boulders piled in the arch of the entranceway, as if something had caved in, but there was enough room for the group to climb through over the boulders. Severus followed curiously, noticing that it seemed very quiet inside the walls, and there was not a single sign of life.

Large cracks in the stone walls led into what Severus assumed were the homes of the people who lived there – if people still lived there. Faces had been carved into wooden posts that stood in a line in the centre of the walled city. There wasn't a sign of life, but death was everywhere. Up a series of steps was another entrance that led into the rock with an arching doorway rimmed with more skulls. In the very centre of the circular walled city was a well.

"There's no one here," Peter pointed out, moving sideways so he stood behind Albus.

"I sense nothing," Moody said, his magical eye spiraling in its socket.

"It's so quiet," Lily whispered. She was spinning in a slow circle, taking in the strange figures carved in the rock and the wood. Her gasp alerted the group, and they followed her gaze to the top of the steps where a child stood.

Even if he was thirteen years younger with his skin covered in white chalk, Severus could recognize Harry Potter. At six years old the boy appeared as fey as he had when Severus had first stumbled on him.

"Hello," Lily greeted. The group watched, clutching wands inconspicuously at their sides as Harry quirked his head to the side and looked at them. He did not speak. "Can you understand me?" Lily asked. Harry raised his right hand, stretching it high above his head, and slowly his fingers curled inward. The small group of travelers spun in surprise as sounds of movement filled the walled city and faces of the people who lived there appeared as the tribe peeked out from their hiding places.

"I didn't sense them at all," Moody muttered.

"Be calm," Albus advised the group who was growing nervous as it became clear that they were completely surrounded. He raised his hands in a sign of peace. "We do not come to cause you harm," he said.

"Then what do you come for?" a strong voice questioned. Again, the travelers turned to the stone steps where a man with skin as dark as night stood beside Harry. Both of them had been covered in white chalk, though the difference in the man's skin color made the effect striking. He wore a long cape and a headdress, and stood with his arm around Harry's shoulder.

"We wish to speak with the leader of your village," Albus said, showing no surprise at the situation, or the fact that someone in this forgotten group of people spoke English fluently.

"My name in Aimsir," the man said. "You will speak with me." When Albus began to walk forward, Aimsir raised a hand and brought the group to a halt. They watched with interest as Aimsir turned to the boy whom Severus knew to be a much younger Harry, and they traded words quickly in a language Severus did not know. Clearly they were discussing Albus and his group. After a brief exchange, Aimsir turned to the group. "Come this way."

They exchanged glances but followed Aimsir up the steps and through the archway, passed the skulls. The passageway was wide and flat, lined with carved faces whose eyes glowed brightly and lit the tunnel. After several turns, Aimsir led the group to stairs that took them down into a large round room at the centre of which burned a large fire. Around the fire were stone benches that Aimsir motioned the group to take. From their seats they could see that a dragon had been carved into the stone, the head of which was large and protruded into the room, it's mouth open and just inside it's gaping mouth was a sort of throne which Aimsir led Harry to and carefully picked the small boy up and settled him onto the seat. Lily and Albus exchanged a look but said nothing.

When Aimsir had returned to the group, Albus was first to speak. "If I may explain why we have come," Albus said, surprising Severus and the rest of his companions, as they had likely never heard Albus sound so humble in anyone's presence.

"I know why you have come," Aimsir said. "I wish to know how you knew to find us."

"Dark Lords, I'm afraid," Albus said. "Have risen before. It was while trying to find a way to defeat a different Dark Lord that a friend spoke to me of a legend concerning your tribe. Not long after, I found a different way to defeat him. This time, however, when I heard of plans to infiltrate the place where we keep such secrets safe, I recalled the legend of which my friend spoke."

"You have come here seeking a way to defeat this new Dark Lord," Aimsir said. "Based on a reference from a friend, from a time when a different Dark Lord strove for domination." Aimsir frowned and turned slightly to the dragon throne on which Harry sat.

"Grindewald," Harry said, his child's voice low and soft, but silencing the group. Severus could tell that the travelers wanted to ask about the boy, but knew to keep quiet and be on their best behavior. Aimsir bowed slightly to Harry and turned back to the group.

"I do not know how you would have us help," Aimsir said plainly.

"The legend spoke of something very sacred to your tribe. Something very powerful," Albus said carefully.

Aimsir grew restless and paced for a while. "You believe it is an artifact you can remove from us to use for whatever purpose," Aimsir said. "Even if it were an artifact, we would not part with it for your convenience." He clasped his hands behind his back and dropped his head for a moment, before raising it again and facing Albus. "I know who you all are. I know why you have come. This thing you ask of us, it cannot be granted. Not to you."

"If we could discuss this, a compromise could be reached," Albus said.

"You think you understand, but you do not. So you ask for something that sounds reasonable to you, who are desperate and in need. The truth is, if you had not come to us, we would never have been involved in this war," Aimsir said. His fists were clenched and there was anger in his expression, but it vanished when the child-Harry spoke. Again the language was not one that Severus -- nor the Hogwarts group -- could understand. They seemed entranced by the child, who was clearly reprimanding and arguing with the older man. Severus, not for the first time, wondered just who Harry Potter was.

"You have brought a great evil here," Aimsir spoke once Harry had grown quiet once more. Aimsir now seemed resigned. "I am the leader of my people and I make the choices for them. Because of this I stand fast in my decision." Aimsir was answering the group, but he was watching Harry, who gazed solemnly back. "I will not release my tribe's treasure to your keeping, even for the briefest of time. It is ours; it is a part of us and we will fight to protect it, even unto death."

Albus bowed his head. "I understand."

Aimsir looked closely at Albus for a moment seeing something beyond the old wizard who sat straight backed and powerful on the bench. "I offer you and your people a safe place to stay this night."

"We accept most humbly," Albus replied.

Aimsir led the group through the tunnels, deeper into the cave where the hall was so narrow that they had to travel single file. Severus waited in the large barren room, knowing he did not have much time before the spell forced him onwards, closed the window on this portion of the tale, but he lingered and watched Harry closely. The young boy slid from the great mouth of the dragon in one fluid movement. The spell on Albus' journal was already guiding Severus from the room, following the group, and he caught sight of Harry's somber expression as the little boy turned to the dragon and slumped into a ball on the floor. Even as he followed Moody don the hall, Severus wondered if Harry really had been crying.

Severus endured the frustrated discussion that began once Aimsir had left the small group in their rooms, most of the company being irritated that their journey had seemingly been for nothing. He accompanied them to dinner and sat sulking in a corner wondering when anything of importance might happen, and cursing the spell for keeping him oddly riveted and unable to skim ahead.

"Pardon my question," Lily said nearing the end of dinner, turning to Aimsir. They were all seated at a round table, with the exception of Severus. "But who is the young boy?"

Aimsir glanced at where Harry was seated. Severus had looked at the boy closely when he had seen him again, but there was no trace of tear-marks on the white chalk that covered him. "Matholwch," Aimsir answered. The table waited for further information but none came.

"He doesn't talk?" Patrick said.

Aimsir seemed unnerved by this line of questioning. "He speaks with me," he answered. Severus saw the intense look Albus turned towards Aimsir and then to Matholwch, Harry. Severus didn't have much time to wonder at this change in Harry's name as Aimsir invited his guests to rest.

He followed the group back to their room, several rounded out sections in the cave that Aimsir had described as one of their most protected areas. He ignored them as they talked and changed, and was happy that the account, as before, did not force him to wade through hours of sleep, as Albus had luckily not included accounts of what he had dreamed in the journal. Instead, Severus was brought to the moment in the early dawn when Albus became aware that he had brought death to the village.

The group was awoken by the sounds of screaming. Albus waited not a moment before ushering the members of his small party into the passageway that Aimsir had revealed to them in his tour of the area. "Stay quiet," he cautioned as they began to move through the darkened tunnels. Each torch became dimmer and spaced further apart until they could barely see their feet in the gloom. The rock of the walls became damp and they could hear moving water, but their tunnel carried-on and the walls became dry again, and everything was quiet, except the sounds of the screams that, though faint, never quite fell silent.

The torches cut-off altogether but after a few moments staggering in the darkness, the passage became illuminated by moonlight, and Albus (with Severus beside him) stepped out of the passage to a shelf on the side of mountain. They were not so high, and looking down at the village below them they could clearly see the Death Eaters as they sought out and slaughtered the villagers. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but Severus became aware of another person on the platform, and he knew just as Albus knew, that this was Matholwch. Severus looked at the young boy as he stood stoically on the side of a mountain and watched his village die, but the young boy whom he knew to be Harry said nothing and made no move to defend the people.

"Why aren't they fighting?" Peter Pettigrew wondered. Severus frowned and looked down at the scene of slaughter again, and realized for the first time that none of the villagers were struggling, none of them were pleading. The screams were from those who writhed under torture-curses, but most died silently and with knowing eyes.

Albus turned to Matholwch and waited until the boy turned to face the aged wizard, his pale cheek once chalked white was now smeared with blood, and there was blood on his hands as well. They shared a moment, Albus and Harry; something passing between them thought Severus, and no one in the group knew exactly what. But after a moment, Albus held-out a hand, and the young boy accepted it, allowing himself to be led away from the destruction of the small city.

The Death Eaters could not have known the way without someone from Albus' party working as a spy. What was so important that two such powerful wizards would be drawn to that one strange place? And why did the villagers not fight to defend themselves and their village?

Severus turned, the questions and the knowledge sitting heavy in him as it sat heavy in Albus. He followed behind the old wizard, his gaze riveted to where Harry's small bloodied hand was clasped in Albus', but then his gaze was caught by something else, in Harry's left hand was a plain little stone that Severus found was all too familiar.

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End Chapter Three:

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